


Le$beans (Pronounced "Le Dollar Beans")

by cx_shhhh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, Enjolras makes thirst-traps, F/F, Rule 63, Social Media, TikTok, Useless Lesbians, i don't make the rules, mutual simping, the piningjolras is strong with this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cx_shhhh/pseuds/cx_shhhh
Summary: Enjolras wants a wider audience and forpeopleto change the world, so the obvious course of action is to start making thirst-traps. At least, that's what Courfeyrac tells her. As it turns out, she gets a lot more than an audience.Spoiler: she gets a girlfriend.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 28





	Le$beans (Pronounced "Le Dollar Beans")

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, [Malin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleAreScary), for being the first to read this and for catching all the silly errors I make.
> 
> If you're here, you're probably here for fluffy lesbians, so you're definitely in the right place for that. Thanks for even clicking on the fic in the first place!

“Enjolras, I promise to you that this will gain the attention of more people than a video of you just standing there and making speeches,” Courfeyrac wheedles, nudging her friend’s shoulder.

“Well, at least with my current videos, I know that my audience is loyal to my cause and not here because of my poor video editing skills,” Enjolras argues.

On her other side, Combeferre coughs, hiding a laugh, so she glares at her.

“You’re attractive, Enj. As your best friend-”

“Hey!” Courfeyrac interrupts, squawking and flipping her girlfriend off indignantly.

“-as one of your two best friends,” Combeferre amends, “I can confidently say that they definitely all came for your face and stayed because you have morals and a reason. Now, if you channel that into videos that appeal to a greater audience, thirst traps, if you will, then TikTok’s algorithm will promote your content and you in the long run.”

The thing is, Enjolras never really wanted to start any social media accounts in the first place, but everyone uses platforms like TikTok and Instagram these days, so she couldn’t help but adapt. Besides, she does have a good couple thousand followers already, gained since the beginning of the summer, and if Combeferre is right, she will just have to go to certain extremes to get more.

Mostly, she just wants people to listen to her by their own will.

“Thirst traps?” Enjolras asks, unfamiliar with the term.

“Content that entices viewers sexually,” Combeferre answers, sipping at her tea nonchalantly. “You don’t necessarily have to be naked to make them.”

Enjolras splutters for a moment, processing this. She doesn’t exactly want people professing their attraction for her when all she wants is for people to take note of the charities she promotes and contributes to or her views on politics. However, her friends do have a solid point.

“Fine. How many of these… thirst traps do I have to make?” she asks at last.

“Just a few. Put on a suit and glare into the camera or something,” Courfeyrac chirps. “Gay TikTok loves that shit. And then we’ll see about the rest. Social media is addictive, y’know.”

And that is why Enjolras was skeptical in the first place. Her personality forces her to become paranoid over stupid things like how many views she receives, and this new form of… communication will definitely feed right into that.

“A suit,” she says instead, phrasing it more like a statement than a question.

“A suit,” Combeferre confirms. “People will eat that right up.”

“Yikes.”

* * *

Predictably, people seem to enjoy Enjolras’s new content. Courfeyrac more or less directs her videos, and Combeferre exists to give very helpful constructive criticism like, “Yeah, I like it,” or, even more informatively, “Nice.”

A woman of few words, that one. Unlike Enjolras, herself. Maybe that is why they work together so well.

Weird and inappropriate comments get filtered out, but Courfeyrac insists that the ones that read, “Please step on me,” followed by a few drooling emojis are worth keeping. Enjolras has no idea why. Stepping on a random commenter would be highly unlikely, especially since she lives in the middle of a big city in an even bigger world. More than a few people claim that her accent is “hot,” which is absolutely ridiculous considering that she is a native French speaker who lives in Paris, but her English is pretty much flawless.

One thing that Enjolras learns is that TikTok’s censorship system is completely fucked up. Words like “lesbian” or “gay” cause her content to be taken down, so she has to come up with ridiculous ways to spell those words, an example being, “le$bean”. As long as she keeps her end goal in mind, Enjolras reminds herself, trying desperately not to give in and just start screaming at the administrators via angry email.

In her free time, Enjolras scrolls through relevant hashtags, finding her own videos in the wide variety of ones under #gaytiktok or #politicaltiktok. Her following has grown exponentially, and the views on her more serious videos multiply. People do tend to enjoy the thirst traps more, though she appreciates whatever good insight they have to offer on the other ones. People duet her bolder videos, either to agree with her or to argue against her, and she watches as many as she can, trying not to roll her eyes at the dumber takes.

One video of hers in particular garners the attention of many.

Enjolras, in all her lesbian glory, also happens to look the part. In the lip-sync videos Courfeyrac forces her to make, her face looks absolutely normal with either a man’s voice or a woman’s. It certainly doesn’t help that her intense eyebrows and cheekbones and jawline and her normal speaking voice being slightly lower than average all help her embody the whole vibe she has going on. Her audience calls it being “masc,” but she thinks those labels are unnecessary.

What baffles her the most is the sheer number of comments she gets asking about her gender. Enjolras literally has “She/her” as the first thing in her bio, followed by a gay flag emoji and a French flag emoji. This definitely filters out those who actually care enough about the cause and those who were just scrolling through their For You page and happened to care enough to comment.

So she decides to remedy that.

“I see a lot of straight girls in my comments asking ‘Is that a boy or a girl?’ and I’m like, ‘Sweetheart, that’s wishful thinking, not to mention exclusive against non-binary folk,’” Enjolras tells her mirror one morning, propping a foot up on the bathroom counter with ease and holding her phone up, hair still messy and voice even huskier than usual. She zooms in and continues, “We know I’m a woman; you’re bisexual now.”

She posts it without hesitation, hoping to finally clear the misunderstandings, and goes back to sleep.

“Enjolras, wake up!”

Enjolras groans and turns over, burying her face in her pillow. It is much too early for Courfeyrac to be screaming in her ear, and she even likes to consider herself a morning person.

“Oh my God, what did you do this morning?” Courfeyrac screeches, when Enjolras finally cracks an eye open to look at her.

“Huh? Oh, I posted a video. Why?”

“‘A video,’ she says. You have half a million views already, and you look like _that_.”

“Yay. Now let me sleep,” Enjolras grumbles into her pillow, not processing the sheer number of people she reached. “Oh, shit, _what?!_ ”

She reaches for her phone, and sure enough, her notifications on the app have been blown up. It is still much too early in the morning for this.

* * *

That video is definitely a vital turning point in Enjolras’s social media career. Other creators take note of her content, which she appreciates, but the number of thirsty comments increases as well, which she doesn’t appreciate as much. Alright, they do help stroke her ego (just a little), and she replies to the top ones in a manner that can almost be considered genuine.

As Enjolras randomly scrolls through her notifications one day, when she isn’t busy with classes or work, she notices a sudden influx of people tagging her in one video in particular. Out of curiosity, she clicks and finds herself watching a video of herself.

Well, herself, but being painted in timelapse. All she sees are a pair of slender hands that simultaneously look delicate and calloused tracing a vague shape out onto a canvas before gradually adding layer after layer of paint. Intrigued, Enjolras continues watching and openly gapes at the result. She knows she looked rather unkempt in that viral video of hers, but seeing that image of herself in oil paint almost makes her look like a Renaissance portrait. God knows how long it took to dry too.

Immediately, Enjolras clicks to the artist’s account and notes the “she/her” in the bio alongside the capital “R” serving as her name. The words “cat mom” just add to the whole artsy aesthetic R has going on, but the blue, purple, and pink hearts are what capture Enjolras’s attention. She swipes down and sees that the first few videos that show up are actually of that same painting and taps on the first one.

Enjolras nearly laughs out loud at the one that accompanies her own audio. R must have spent way too much time on this because it looks like the most complex animation to ever exist. Every single one of Enjolras’s ridiculous poses is captured to the tee as each painting—yes, multiple paintings, _what the fuck—_ flips through.

She immediately taps on the little heart and saves it to her camera roll after leaving a speechless comment. Can comments even be speechless?

Further down R’s profile are paintings of various other queer creators, all done in that same style, which makes Enjolras smile at herself and Combeferre look at her oddly from the other side of the room. She makes a vague hand motion back and turns back to her phone. There are a few more breathtaking portraits of her, which is extremely flattering. This artist captures each fold of Enjolras’s dark red suit and every single stray blonde hair that escapes from her man-bun in one of them. (She realizes that man-bun is yet another stupid term, but it is what it is. Besides, they’re easy to execute with her hair length.)

No thoughts are necessary when Enjolras follows R, interested in whatever new content she might push out.

Maybe the little caption that reads, “if Enjolras follows me, i’ll do a face reveal :D,” on the video she came from is what ultimately pushes her to do so, but nobody can really be too sure. Enjolras cannot deny that she is more than a little curious to see what R looks like though.

* * *

_Oh my God_ , is the first thing Enjolras thinks when she opens the app a week later. She totally forgot about R’s promise, and now a literal whine escapes her. She is definitely not usually one to look at people’s faces first to gauge their quality, but in this case, she doesn’t have to. R is clearly a talented individual, and her _face. Who gave her the right?_

“Oh my God,” she repeats out loud, and she is a little ashamed to say that her voice cracks.

Courfeyrac looks up from her laptop and asks, “Huh?”

_“She’s so pretty,”_ Enjolras can only say, voice muffled by the table.

“Huh?!”

“I’m so gay,” she bemoans and takes another peek at her phone before her head hits the table again.

“That isn’t news, but finding someone pretty is!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “I demand to see her.”

Enjolras really doesn’t want to hand the device over, but since she isn’t going to stare into R’s blue eyes for any longer in fear of getting heart palpitations, she reluctantly does.

“You’re so right,” her friend proclaims at last. “You should slide into her DMs.”

“You make that sound so creepy.”

“It’s just the technical term!”

“I’m not ‘sliding into her DMs’.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Courfeyrac begs. “C’monnnnn.”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Enjolras sighs after a moment of utterly failing against her puppy eyes. “But only if you stop pestering me.”

Courfeyrac squeals and hugs her tightly before leaping away, probably to tell Combeferre about this new development.

Enjolras thinks she hears Courfeyrac say, “Operation: Get Enj a Talented Girlfriend,” but she can never know for certain when it comes to her friend. When she looks back down at her phone, she steels herself to actually watch the video in full. And then she will watch it again and again, just because she can.

R’s hair looks so fluffy and soft in the video that Enjolras nearly reaches out to caress her screen before catching and reprimanding herself. R’s voice sounds like the sweetest symphony when it comes out from between her pink lips, and Enjolras stares, entranced.

“ _Bonjour_ , my name is R, as you all can probably tell,” she says. “Erm, I’m twenty, I live in Paris, and I enjoy painting… as you can probably also tell. Fuck. There’s a reason I don’t usually do these. I promised a face reveal when Enjolras followed me because I’m a huge fan of her content and have been since the beginning before she posted all those thirst traps, not that I’m complaining, so there’s that. She has great takes, though some are meh, but definitely worth checking out if you’re just there because she looks good in a suit. Ah!”

The camera turns around, and Enjolras briefly mourns the loss of R’s face filling her screen, only to brighten again when cats take her place. There are two of them, siblings probably, and meowing when R moves her phone closer.

“These are my adorable kitties,” she continues, like Enjolras isn’t dying because of how utterly infatuated she is right now. “I love them a lot. Maybe I’ll paint them one day, but for the time being, I enjoy painting Enjolras.”

The last part is said in a mumble that Enjolras has to strain to hear, but when she does, her heart flutters behind her ribcage. Suddenly, she can relate to all those people commenting on her accent because R’s curls around the syllables of her name like honey. Where is all this purple prose coming from?

The video ends, and Enjolras wants to shout, “I need more!” at her phone, so the logical next step is to let it play again… and again… until she has R’s little “ _Bonjour_ ,” cemented into her memory. By the tenth time R has insulted her, she sighs dreamily and puts her chin in her hand, not noticing how her friends look at her worriedly.

_“Oh my God, is Enjolras_ simping _?”_ Courfeyrac whispers, which jolts her out of her stupor.

Enjolras taps the message button and types out, “So which of my opinions are the ‘meh’ ones?” and takes a deep breath before hitting send.

Soon enough, she gets a response.

_well i could go on forever, but i dont think you have the patience for that_

_No, no. I really do._

_…_

_Yes?_

_do you maybe want to meet up for this since we have the ability to? i know it’s a bit early in our “relationship” but…_

Enjolras tries not to punch the air in elation and types frantically instead.

_I’m open to suggestions._

_definitely somewhere obscure. like a hidey-hole café._ _my face is all over the internet now, no thanks to you :p_

Okay, that’s fucking adorable.

_My friends and I are at the Musain sometimes. Is that within reach for you?_

_yup_

_So… unless you’re busy then, 15:00 tomorrow works for me._

_:D_

Enjolras takes that as confirmation, and her heart nearly stops for a second. Is this a date? Is she going on a date with someone she met over the Internet?

Nah, this is merely meeting up with someone who just so happens to be breathtakingly gorgeous and discussing politics. Courfeyrac would have her head if she found out that this is what Enjolras is going with to romance somebody.

“Uh, does meeting someone in a café count as a date?” she asks absentmindedly, chewing on the end of her pen.

“Did you phrase it like one?”

Enjolras shrugs, and Courfeyrac facepalms.

“Like, did you ask, ‘Will you go out with me?’”

“No?”

“Then just play it by ear. She’s definitely interested in you, and by the sappy look you had on your face earlier, you’re definitely interested in her,” Courfeyrac advises. “I have high hopes for you two.”

Enjolras looks back at that last smiley face and doesn’t look away until Combeferre snaps her fingers in front of her face.

Hoo boy.

* * *

Enjolras finds herself fidgeting as she waits, tapping her fingers against the table as she scrolls through a news website and retains none of the information. A cup of black coffee sits innocently in front of her, and it may be the reason for her restlessness were it not still completely full.

Every time the bell at the front chimes, she whips her head up, only to be disappointed by the lack of long dark curls framing a face she has burned in the back of her mind. Right on the dot, the door flies open, and Enjolras’s breath flies out of it in a whoosh.

In person, R reminds her even more of an angel sculpted by skilled hands, dressed in an oversized green sweater, denim shorts, and black flats with bows. She is much shorter than Enjolras expected, and the top of her head would just barely reach her chin. R looks around while fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater, and her eyes visibly light up when she notices Enjolras.

After exchanging a greeting, R introduces herself as Grantaire and Enjolras smiles at the pun because _cute_. From up close, she can see freckles dancing across the bridge of her dainty nose. Her lashes are long and thick and sweep across her cheeks when she blinks. She orders tea, which Enjolras immediately takes note of. For friendly purposes. No other reason.

“So,” she starts.

“So,” Grantaire repeats, and _fuck_ , her voice sounds even nicer when she’s being a little sarcastic.

“Y’know what, we could talk about politics or morals or how horrible TikTok’s censorship system is, but honestly, I just want to know more about you.”

“Ask me anything.”

Enjolras is so tempted to ask her out on a proper date, but she restrains herself to simple questions like what her favorite color is—Grantaire looks down at her clothes and then back up at her incredulously—and what her cats’ names are.

“Vin and Fromage,” she replies proudly. Of course, she would name her cats Wine and Cheese because she’s fucking adorable.

They talk about anything and everything, and an hour passes in a flash. Grantaire challenges nearly everything she says, but she phrases her arguments so elegantly that Enjolras can’t bring herself to mind. After all, it has been so long since she has been able to have a rousing conversation with someone who didn’t just blindly agree with her because they were distracted by her face.

“Are you single?” Enjolras asks after they have exhausted every topic of discussion, so she cannot be blamed for her muddled state of mind. “Wait, fuck-”

“Yes,” Grantaire answers. “And you should know that I find you very attractive.”

“Oh.”

Everything is moving faster than Enjolras’s delayed brain can keep up with. Was Grantaire always this close to her? And were her eyes always this sparkly and earnest?

“I find you very attractive too,” Enjolras whispers, not trusting her voice. In her two decades of life, she has never been anything close to speechless, but after knowing Grantaire for roughly two weeks, she finds herself speechless more often than not.

However, she is pleased to note that she somewhat has the same effect on Grantaire as the artist blushes a very pretty red—Enjolras’s new favorite shade of red—and covers her face with her hands.

“This is a dream,” Grantaire mutters. “This is a dream, and I think I’m being very cool about all this right now. So cool, in fact, that Enjolras thinks I’m attractive.”

“Well, if it makes it any better, I think it all started when I got tagged a couple hundred times in that post of yours. I could write odes about your art, and I’m not even a poet. Knowing what you look like is honestly just a bonus.”

“No, that does not make it better. I’m gonna wake up and hate myself for waking up because there is no way that this could possibly be happening to me. Oh God, Joly and Bossuet are gonna have to deal with me sobbing my heart out later.”

Unable to do much else, Enjolras pulls Grantaire into a side hug, resisting the urge to bury her nose in that smooth neck and sniff while she rubs her back and relishes in the softness of her sweater. She feels Grantaire stiffen and then melt into the embrace.

“It’s not a dream. If it was, I would hate to wake up too, especially since this might actually be the best day of my life,” she points out.

When Grantaire doesn’t say anything but clings tighter to the collar of her red button-up, Enjolras slips her arm down to her small waist and impulsively drops a tiny kiss into her hair. That’s what friends do, right?

“Your arms are as nice as I imagined,” Grantaire says softly, interrupting the gentle silence. “Oh no, I hope that isn’t weird-“

“Nope. I’m flattered,” Enjolras reassures before her mouth twists in a faux grimace. “Even if you scorn Robespierre.”

The artist scoffs before laughing in earnest, shoulders trembling, and smushing her face into Enjolras’s shirt.

“Oh… my God, you should’ve seen your offended face,” she giggles. “I’m gonna paint that when I get home.”

Enjolras rolls her eyes fondly, squeezing Grantaire’s middle until she whines for mercy. Her cheeks are an even brighter red—Enjolras might have to re-evaluate her favorite color, but that can happen much later—and her blue eyes shine with mirth.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Grantaire huffs, and Enjolras lets herself grin, if only to hear the sudden intake of breath from her companion.

“I can’t wait.”

* * *

For a whole month, the two of them dance around each other, not quite defining their relationship as anything more than friends. They give each other kisses on the cheek and sometimes on the nose when they’re feeling particularly fond, and Enjolras finds herself with Grantaire halfway in her lap more often than not. She doesn’t quite mind because she is a wonderful person who questions everything she says and has so many smart insights. Enjolras thinks she might be more than a little smitten.

A day after their first meeting, Grantaire posts a video of that painting she promised, and Enjolras duets it immediately. She doesn’t do much in the video except express her awe, and her followers take notice of this new development. She isn’t quite sure what fanfiction is, but she isn’t quite sure she wants to find out.

“Enj, why haven’t you asked her out yet?” Courfeyrac asks when she catches Enjolras smiling at her phone for the third time that morning.

“I don’t know,” she replies simply.

Courfeyrac sighs in exasperation and pats her on the head. Enjolras looks up and scowls.

“She’s my friend. And _maybe_ she finds me attractive, but she could just be saying it because she’s my friend.”

“She’s also been following you since the beginning,” Courfeyrac points out. “She also happens to think you’re funny, which is completely beyond me.”

Enjolras refuses to sigh dreamily again. Grantaire, sweet and beautiful Grantaire, who has a tongue as sharp as her own, finds her funny. That almost makes up for making her feel slightly miffed whenever Grantaire makes fun of her opinions. Enjolras can only hope that she feels the same way.

“Is it too early to propose marriage?” she asks, not entirely insincerely. “I think I might love her.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen, and she exclaims, “Whoa there, Romeo! Calm your tits.”

“My tits are calm.”

“What the actual fuck.”

“I just… I don’t know if she wants to be exclusive with me,” Enjolras tells the table, pouting a little. “She’s brilliant, humorous, has cute cats—I could go on and on.”

“I might have a solution,” her friend announces, and she looks up eagerly.

“Please, do enlighten me.”

“Well, first you have to…”

* * *

With a single tap, Enjolras uploads the video and sets her phone face down on her desk.

“Do you think she’ll take the hint?”

“She’s a smart woman, your R. Be a little more optimistic,” Combeferre chides.

They watch the video again. It starts out with just a little clip of Enjolras, and at the beat-drop, shuffles through pictures of her, some informal, but most are of her in suits or button-ups with the collar open.

The words at the top read, “I heard we can leave our gf applications here.”

If Grantaire doesn’t get it, Enjolras might just give up.

“Well, nothing we can do now but wait,” Courfeyrac shrugs.

As if right on cue, a post notification pops up on the lock screen, so Enjolras lunges for her phone and takes a fraction of a second to tap on it. It’s a duet of her own video.

“Oh God,” she mutters.

“It’s so cute that you have post notifications on for her,” Courfeyrac coos. “You’re such a dedicated fan.”

“Uh huh. Whatever.”

Enjolras strides to her room and closes the door to watch the video alone. She sits down in her chair and nearly falls off. If the sweater and shorts were bad enough, the dress Grantaire is wearing is sent straight from the gates of hell, a strapless dark green number that reaches mid-thigh and fits her body like a glove. Her hair falls down her back in soft waves and no doubt smells like flowers.

“Application accepted,” it reads, featuring Grantaire winking and blowing a kiss at the camera with lips expertly painted red. When she turns around, the video ends, right in time with Enjolras’s last picture.

She quickly opens her messaging app because texting is much easier than using DMs, and her thumbs fly over the keyboard.

_Really?_

_i cant tell if that’s a sarcastic really or a genuine really_

_The latter._

The three dots appear and then disappear, filling Enjolras with nervous anticipation.

_joly and boss are out w their gf_

_wanna come over? :D_

Well, she knows what she wants. She types out a reply.

_What’s your address?_

Enjolras throws on her trusty red hoodie and announces to her friends that she’ll be away for a bit.

“Don’t bother waiting for me,” she says.

Courfeyrac whistles and cheers, “Go get your girl!” while Combeferre shushes her, but her grin is just as wide.

The walk to Grantaire’s place is short and made even shorter by Enjolras’s fast stride. Nobody gives her a passing glance even if they recognize her from TikTok, and in ten minutes, she is knocking on Grantaire’s door.

Unfortunately, the dress and makeup are gone when she opens the door, but the soft sweater makes a reappearance. Her hair is twisted up in a bun, a paintbrush sticking out of it. Enjolras remembers Grantaire talking about how her “special talent” is making a brush-bun and smiles fondly.

“May I?” Enjolras asks and then curses herself mentally for not being more specific. Thankfully, Grantaire seems to know what she means and nods, eyes shining eagerly.

Not wanting to waste another second that she could be using to kiss her, Enjolras pulls her in by the waist and bends down, so their lips can meet. Grantaire’s mouth is soft and pliant, and Enjolras thinks she can spend the rest of eternity just kissing her.

“Mmm,” Grantaire hums. “Why haven’t we been doing this earlier?”

That is truly a good question.

“I, uh, just assumed you were complimenting my appearance rather than expressing an interest in dating me,” Enjolras shrugs. “I didn’t want to compromise that.”

“Oh, you stupid, considerate, beautiful person. My lips are feeling rather cold… would you mind warming them up again?”

And what can she do but kiss her again? Grantaire sighs against her lips and opens her own to allow access to Enjolras’s tongue.

When they part, her eyes remain closed, and Enjolras silently begs her to open them, so she can admire them. When Grantaire does, they are glazed over beautifully, and her mouth is glossy and redder than they had been with her lipstick.

“I’m such a rude host,” Grantaire says, voice breathy.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been standing in the doorway,” she explains and drags Enjolras into her apartment. “I can make food.”

Enjolras really, really wants to eat whatever food Grantaire is willing to make her. She says this out loud and gets a kiss on her cheek for it.

When she steps through the door, twin meows greet her, and she bends down to pet Vin and Fromage, still laughing quietly at their names. When she looks back up again, she notices Grantaire grinning fondly, so she just has to stand up and kiss her smile.

Grantaire’s apartment smells faintly like paint, she notes. There are no fewer than three canvases propped up in the living room, which may explain why. The walls are heavily decorated with portraits, and Enjolras thrills upon seeing her own face, not because she’s egotistical but because she is honored that she has a place on Grantaire’s walls.

“Do you like me that much?” she teases and receives a glare in response.

“Shut up,” Grantaire mumbles, face pinkening.

“Okay, humor me, please, because I’m genuinely curious and not just fishing for compliments, but why do you even like me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re dedicated, as shown by how you liked and commented on every single one of my videos, easy to have a conversation with, forgiving when I’m feeling down, and when we talk, you look at me like there’s nobody else in the world. Oh, and you look good in a suit. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Aww,” Enjolras coos, poking her cheek before kissing it gently. “You’re so cute.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I don’t just think so. I _know_ so. You’re absolutely adorable. Beautiful, lovely, sexy too. Why don’t _you_ make any thirst traps?”

Grantaire looks at the floor, blush taking over her face.

“Um, I’m glad you think so, but I’m really not any of those things you think I am.”

Well, that just won’t do.

Enjolras places a finger under her chin and tilts it up, so she can stare straight into her blue eyes.

“Do you know what I did the moment I saw your face in that one video?” she asks, and Grantaire shakes her head. “Well, first of all, I definitely thought that you were and still are the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen, and you should know that my friends are pretty attractive. I had to put my head down for a solid ten minutes before I could even begin to watch the rest of it. And then you opened your mouth, and your voice was like a siren’s spell that I immediately got trapped in. Even when you insulted me, I kept smiling like an idiot, and Courf mocked me about it. Not to mention your art! Like, what the fuck? Amazing, vivid, awe-inspiring. You mentioned me not being able to look at anyone else when I talk to you, but how can I even look away from someone who shines more brightly than the moon and stars? So please, R, try and convince me otherwise because I assure you that you will not win that debate.”

Enjolras takes her by the shoulders and shakes her for good measure like she is trying to empty her of all her self-deprecating thoughts.

“That’s called being a simp, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, voice muffled by Enjolras’s hoodie.

“Call me whatever you want,” she huffs. “But I’ll have you know that I simp for you and only you.”

“How romantic. I’ll have you know that I simp for you too.”

Enjolras grins and hides it in Grantaire’s hair, which does indeed smell like flowers. She runs her hands through it a few times, and Grantaire sighs happily.

“I’m not kidding, though. If your comment section reveals anything, it’s that your followers would eat it up because they’re all massive simps for you,” she says. “Not as much as I am, obviously, but if you’re comfortable with it, I’ll be your first like and comment.”

“I have an even better idea,” Grantaire replies. “Make one with me.”

* * *

For the time being, they can stand to maintain a little anonymity, which is why, a few days later, they film from Enjolras’s neck down, even if people will definitely recognize her by either her clothes or her hands, both of which have featured prominently in her own videos. The camera moves to capture an image of Grantaire’s waist and Enjolras’s hand sliding over the fabric of her black satin dress almost possessively.

When the music pulses, Enjolras draws her closer suddenly, which elicits something of a gasp that only she will have the opportunity to hear. Grantaire runs her own hands over Enjolras’s shoulders and grasps the lapels of her suit as if aiming to pull her down for a kiss. She’s wearing shiny stilettos, which boost her up to a considerable height, but still not enough to reach her without tilting her head up. The video cuts off the second before Enjolras’s lips can touch hers.

“Oh, okay. That’s hot,” Courfeyrac admits before her expression turns sly. “Don’t be shy. You two can kiss in front of me.”

Enjolras rolls her eyes and replies, “Well, now that you’ve effectively ruined the moment, I don’t think I will.”

Even so, Grantaire yanks her head down and presses their lips together firmly before pushing her away and muttering something about being left high and dry like that. Note to self, always give her the kisses she promises.

Enjolras pulls her in for another, and by the time they part, panting a little, Courfeyrac is nowhere to be seen and neither is the phone.

* * *

The next day, they lounge together on Grantaire’s bed, squeezing to fit on the tiny mattress, while scrolling through the comments on her video. One reads, “IF THIS IS WHAT HER CONTENT IS GONNA BE LIKE FROM NOW ON, I THINK I NEED MORE,” followed by a whole arsenal of heart emojis. There are many more enthusiastic comments and some extremely ignorant ones, but whatever. Enjolras has long since accepted that society will never be perfect.

What catches her attention are the comments mentioning her name.

“Wow, your followers sure are perceptive,” Enjolras remarks.

“Yeah, well. It’s not like we were really trying to hide it or anything. Look, this one’s asking me if you’re my girlfriend!”

Enjolras watches as her girlfriend sends a winky face in reply.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle, are you?” she asks, nudging her shoulder.

Grantaire only sticks her tongue out at her and replies, “My video, my comment section… and my girlfriend.”

Enjolras can see the regret on her face when Vin leaps up and places a paw into her open mouth.

“Your girlfriend,” she confirms. “And you’re mine.”

If anybody told Enjolras she would be cuddling someone she might as well have fallen in love with when she first downloaded TikTok, she would’ve laughed in their face. Now, with Grantaire in her arms and many more thirst traps to be made, she couldn’t have been more grateful to thirst traps of all things.

It doesn’t end there, though.

The world gets a shock when Grantaire walks into the room, wearing nothing but a familiar blazer and yawning, while Enjolras is recording a speech to post, and it gets another shock when she paints the two of them entwined in a soft embrace.

Obviously, the captions for both read, “Mine <3.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here are some videos I used for reference:  
> [Title](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeRmBRFg/)  
> [The Video That Started It All](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMehdAnUc/)  
> [Girlfriend Applications](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMehd5sCB/)  
> [The reason I downloaded this godforsaken app in the first place.](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMehdB6P1/)
> 
> There is now [ART](https://musicaltheatre-princess.tumblr.com/post/645222755039576064/le-beans-pronounced-le-dollar-beans-chapter). Thank you so much!
> 
> You can find my Tumblr [here](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)! I post a lot of memes and stuff, so maybe something will catch your interest. Feel free to send me an ask or rant about how adorable Grantaire is.
> 
> In addition, join the [hoes for enjolras](https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA) server to talk or something.


End file.
